


Past Is Prologue

by foxxandbeanz



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-19 20:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20215483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxandbeanz/pseuds/foxxandbeanz
Summary: For Gendrya Week.These largely brief chapters read between the lines of the final episode. Tell a story of Arya and Gendry in King's Landing. And potentially lead in to a longer story and a proper ending for our fated pair. Oh and they loosely follow the Gendrya Week prompts. Rating likely to change (insert eyebrow waggle.)





	1. 1. Let's Run Away

**Author's Note:**

> Arya.   
King's Landing.  
Sometime after she boarded a white horse.   
Before the Dragon Pit Council.

“We could run away.” Arya spoke the words as low as possible while still giving them enough force to travel through the thick wood that separated them. Knowing her voice needn’t go far because he was sat on the cold stone floor, back pressed against the door on his side just as she was. But he didn’t respond. He rarely did.

Arya rarely pressed him. So after a moment she continued. “Tyrion knows the tunnels. Davos knows the city and the bay. I can be invisible when I need to be. We could sneak you right under their unsullied noses.” He said nothing, still, but when she closed her eyes she could hear him breathing, slightly more exasperated than before.

There was something playful in her tone, something that reminded him of the little girl he left behind. But he knew she wasn’t jesting. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Having nothing to do except sit and await his fate had revealed how incredibly tired the past several . . . years had left him. Not that he slept now either.

“I’ve a ship nearly ready, we could go any-”

“I’m not running away, Arya.”

His deep voice eased through the wood and rolled over her, echoing slightly in his makeshift cell, loosening something across her shoulders. Even though she didn’t like his response. Why were all the men in her life so stubborn? “Jon, they want your head.”

There was something like a laugh, brief and muffled from Jon’s side of the door. “I don’t need to be reminded of that, Arya.”

Arya shuffled her legs uncomfortably against the unyielding stone beneath them, her unyielding brother behind her, the unyielding fabric of her Northern doublet suddenly too constricting. It was too warm. The usually soft fur itching against her skin. Making something itch inside her. The need to move, to bolt, nearly taking over. Nearly. Except she could see Jon’s face, as if the door wasn’t there at all. Her neck turning to stare into the grain. She could see him guileless and solemn with sad grey eyes; the same as hers. The same as someone else. Whom she’d ignored for far too long.

“And you’ll just stand there and let them take it? Just like Father?” Arya’s throat welled unexpectedly. She was glad of Jon’s slow responses now as she tried to swallow back the feelings she hadn’t known could still be stirred in her. Until recently, back at Winterfell after so many hardening years, Arya didn’t know there was anything but cold, calculated vengeance remaining in her veins.

“Unlike Father,” Jon paused at the weighted word and Arya was sadly comforted by their shared struggle. “I am guilty.”

“No!”

Arya was surprised by her own outburst. The pitch of her stubborn refusal to accept Jon’s plea was childish and dripping in desperation. It garnered the attention of the guard whose head now craned around the corner some distance down the passage. She glared openly back, his dark eyes the only visible feature of his face, until he swiveled to face away once more. It was unlikely he spoke the common tongue anyway.

She could hear Jon turning to face the door properly, raising up on his knees, and more faint, his palm resting against the wood and perhaps his forehead, his next words seemed closer.

“I am sorry, Arya. So sorry. But I knew what I was doing. And it doesn’t matter the reason. Ned Stark wasn’t a coward. He didn’t raise us to run. I will take my punishment. Whatever it is.” He was imploring her to understand, invoking the name of their father but appealing to an ideal of justice that abandoned Arya long ago.

“That makes you as stupid as Father as well.”

They hadn’t had time for Jon to grow accustom to her bluntness, her quick, dry jabs in black and white. And he had been schooled too well, taught to be careful and controlled.

“I was there, Jon. When they killed him with his own sword.” Jon’s breath caught at her confession. But he didn’t stop her. “It wasn’t righteous. And it wasn’t brave. It was just stupid.”

“You never said-”

Arya was glad to avoid the look she knew Jon would give her. The look anyone would give her, if she started sharing. Save one who never pitied her or asked her why she did the things she did. Or how. And she wished for the briefest moment, the blink of an eye, that she had told him more. “I only ever told Gen-“ wished it enough that she almost didn’t stop herself. “I only ever told one person.”

Both sides of the door got very quiet. Arya unwilling to say more and Jon unable.

There was a hiss of fabric as Jon slumped back down on the floor. The sound of defeat from an already defeated, deflated young man. How were they still so young?

“Were you very alone?”

There hadn’t been time to ask these things. Between battles. Between life and death. It somehow didn’t matter where they had all been prior to their reunion in the Winterfell courtyard.

“We were all alone,” Arya was at peace with their continued ignorance.

“Arya. Were you alone?” He had left one family only to make another. Traded brothers for brothers. But he was still her brother and he needed to know. Even if it wasn’t something he could apologize for.

“Not all the time,” she conceded. But they both knew she meant most of the time. And they let seconds of silence tick by. Seconds they weren’t ready to admit they might never get back.

Arya wished she had her dagger at her hip, at least it would have given her hands some occupation, but she would never have made it to Jon’s door with any obvious weapon. They wouldn’t even let her in the room with him. After- well anyone who had been in the North knew too well now what she was capable of.

“Do you know what most men would have done? What other men have done? Any other man would have taken the throne for himself. But not you. You have more claim to it than anyone. Father could have, too. It probably never even occurred to him.” Arya remembered her history lessons well. Kings usurped. Rebellions. The crown rarely passed to the most deserving.

“I only wanted to do what was right. I don’t deserve a crown or a throne. And I don’t want one.” Everything about Jon’s words was truthful. Stupid, honest, good Jon Snow. “Why do have you a ship ready?”

Something surged in her and brought Arya to her feet. She couldn’t sit still any longer. And there were several guards’ boots coming toward them. A few passages away but coming to end her visit.

“All the men I grew up with, all the men I lo- they’re all so fucking honorable. They’re all so willing to leave and die. But they won’t even save themselves.” Her fists were clenching, her muscles tightening, ready for a fight.

“Arya, why do you have a ship?” Jon called more urgently, not bothering to keep his voice low anymore.

“You should be far away from here, Jon. We both should.” She wanted to pound on the door. But she also wanted to be allowed back tomorrow.

“What are you afraid of? What’s out there that Arya Stark could possibly still be afraid of?” Jon was getting too close to a truth she hadn’t admitted to herself.

The guards would be rounding the corner soon to lead her out.

Arya rested her forehead against Jon’s prison door. “We should run away.”


	2. 2. (Never) Marry Me Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's King's Landing Cell.  
A couple days after his conversation with Arya.  
More truth bombs.  
This chapter wasn't supposed to get so bro-motional.  
Sorry not sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said these were loosely based on the prompts, right?  
Thank you early readers.  
I will, infact, like you best.

It is morning. That much Jon knows.

He knows because he had watched the square of sky visible through his small room’s window shift from pale blue to something brighter, then pale again and finally to dark. He’d leaned over the window sill just once to better get his bearings. The sight made him so violently sick, he punctured something and ended up vomiting blood. So, now he only watches the window from a distance. Usually sitting on the floor beside the door.

His guards haven’t left him without any comforts, a small bed, a table and chairs. He is brought food he never ate. The water he drinks most days just to chase the ash down his throat.

And they let Arya visit. Not for long. And not every day. But even hearing her voice is far more than he deserves.

Now, it is pale blue through the window again. Jon thinks it may have been two or three days since he last spoke to Arya.

Though he has no real idea how many days had passed. Or how many days remain.

He is always tired but he doesn’t remember sleeping or waking. Yet, it is morning.

And there are heavy uniform foot falls outside the door. The slight sounds of well fitted armor as it settles. Then the echoing clank of the locks on the door that make Jon bolt upright from his spot on the floor.

By the time he gets his feet under him two guards shove a third body across the threshold and are already closing the door. The guards on the outside. Jon’s eyes rise to take in his visitor. They rise much further than he expected.

“Gendry?” Jon’s voice comes out more gravely and unused than usual. He knows it certainly is Gendry. The nervous shuffle of his boots against the floor is familiar. As is the twisting of his hands together behind his back. His clear blue eyes filled with purpose like they’d been on a beach at Dragonstone. But Gendry is a different man now too. Dressed in a simple but well-made black doublet and breeches. Some decorative marks at his broad shoulders. His face scrubbed clean. The slight smirk Jon has often seen him wear, wiped from his lips in favor of something grim.

“Your Grace,” Gendry doesn’t bow. He wouldn’t know how.

Jon winces at the address. “It’s just Jon, now.”

“Not to me,” Gendry looks him dead in the eye while he appraises him. Jon hadn’t appreciated that about him before, not really. “You look . . . alright?”

A laugh breaks Jon’s face even as his eyes well. All he can do then is shake his head. “It’s good to see you. Not who I expected. But, good. How did you get the guards-”

“I’m in love with her.”

Definitely the same Gendry.

Jon stares stupefied at his confession before finally sputtering out a delayed, “What?” The “Who?” that follows it slightly quicker. There is no satisfaction as knowledge flashes across his brain. It could only be one person. Jon lists to his right, grabbing a nearby chair back for balance. And they say her name at the same time.

“Arya?”

“Arya!”

His vision blurs as he stumbles again. Jon can’t say if it’s the malnutrition or the shock. He’s not even sure if he’s mad or just confused. Or if Arya is playing a joke on him. But he blinks back at Gendry and knows it’s not. He manages to say, “You should sit down.”

Then Gendry is the one pulling back a chair and steadying Jon as he drops into it before sitting across the small table from him. He watches Jon breathe a bit roughly and stare at the wall for a minute before he seems to come back to himself and fix his Stark grey eyes on Gendry. He shouldn’t find it as comforting as he does.

“You’re in love with Arya?” Jon can practically the see the words come from his own mouth. The slow trail of them. The spaces in between. How they seem to hang in the air in front of him. Like hot breath in the cold.

“Aye.” Gendry doesn’t seem to notice.

Just the effort it takes for Jon to draw his brow together hurts. “You don’t even know her.”

“I know her.” It’s not an argument. It’s a statement.

Jon thinks of all Gendry must have seen and heard in Winterfell. Hells, the things Jon had seen and heard in Winterfell. About his little sister. “She’s a hero. She slayed the Night King. She is. . . ” Jon struggles for the right word. “Impressive. But an infatuation based on that isn’t love.”

Gendry’s struggling to keep still. His hands press hard against his knees to stay them. “It’s not . . . she is but . . . I know her, Jon. I have known her.” He doesn’t struggle on the last bit.

Jon feels heat rise in his blood. He feels anger for the first time in a while that isn’t directed at himself. He leans toward Gendry feeling more kingly than he ever did in The North. “What does that mean?”

Gendry leans right back, until they’re only inches apart to let Jon in on secret. Something he wouldn’t dare share with anyone else. “It means she is. She is brave. And she is fierce. And she is fucking beautiful. But she doesn’t let anyone see it. And I have known her since she was just a girl dressed up in boys’ clothes trying to escape the queen that killed her father.”

As Jon searches Gendry’s face, digests his words, he finds nothing but sincerity. Knows the absolute truth in it. The depth that it lives in Gendry’s heart. He’s a little astonished by it actually. “You followed me. Beyond the Wall. To Winterfell. Into a hopeless war. And you never said.”

“Aye.” Gendry looks away for the first time since he nearly fell into the room. Glancing at his hands that have laced together in his lap, then back up to Jon. The swallow before he speaks is visible, slow and rough beneath his skin. “We don’t talk about them. The ones we lost. I lost her. It was my fault. I thought she was dead.”

“So did I.” Jon barely hears his own voice.

“I would have followed any Stark.” Jon does hear the words Gendry leaves off. _For her_.

“Gendry, why are you telling me now?” He suddenly feels more awake than he has in weeks. Jon assumes he is as good as dead. The Unsullied are just waiting for an audience. The others must see that as well. 

“Cause I need to ask you a favor.” The smirk twitches at the corner of Gendry’s mouth as his head ducks just a little.

And Jon laughs. Full and loud. It shakes his whole body. Gendry actually stands in an attempt to see if he’s well. When he catches his breath he replies, “I don’t think my permission would mean much now.”

“I won’t ask her again. I’m not _that_ stupid.”

“Again? Gendry-”

“Jon,” Gendry’s voice is suddenly sharp. He needs Jon’s full attention without question. Jon has only seen him with such command in a forge, with a hammer. He wonders if there isn’t something good of Robert Baratheon in him. “If they offer you a deal, something that isn’t immediate beheading, _anything_ . . . take it. Don’t be proud.”

Jon hears the words but he doesn’t really know what Gendry is asking of him. “I’m not afraid to die.” He doesn’t expect Gendry to kneel in front of him, to grab ahold of his shoulders, to implore him.

“I am afraid. I’m afraid of what she’ll do to save you. And I am bloody terrified of what she’ll do if she can’t.”

A nod is all Jon can offer in the face of Gendry’s plea. For the man that might love her as much as he does. There’s no promise he can make. But Gendry lets him go and his expression calms.

“Have you seen her?”

“Not really,” Gendry admits it. “A glimpse. Two days ago. You only see her if she wants you to.”

Jon thinks Gendry doesn’t realize the truth in his own statement. “She has a ship.” Jon tells him.

“Aye.” He already knows.

“What are you doing about it?” If he’d fight the dead, brave Unsullied guards, face her one time king brother – there might be hope yet.

But Gendry’s defeated on that front already. “She’d never marry me now.” And with that Gendry starts for the door. If he raises his fist to knock the guards will retrieve him.

It occurs to Jon he’s missed something crucial in this whole exchange. “Does she love you?”

Gendry looks back and Jon knows. He knows the hurt in Gendry’s eyes wouldn’t be so deep if it was one sided. He knocks on the door before he answers. “As much as she can.”

“Thank you. Lord Baratheon.” Jon says as the door opens.

Gendry doesn’t hesitate. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

It’s after the guards pull him away and the door is closed and locked again that Jon realizes what the marks on Gendry’s coat look like.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you will:)


End file.
